In the past year, he’s grown by at least 60 pounds and 15 inches additional inches, surely. He is an armful, and prefers to get places under his own steam. I used to tuck him under my arm, or into one of the smaller pockets in my purse, and carry him everywhere. We never used a diaper bag with him, and never had to buy him formula; instead, he and I figured out nursing together, and once we got the problems ironed out (after twelve long weeks of pain and frustration), he took to it with gusto. Certainly his post-nursing farts had a tone of deepest satisfaction about them.

He took to rolling early. We had to move him from his rock-n-sleep into a bassinet. Eventually, he managed to master sitting up. Yes, he’d occasionally crumple like an accordian, but he was trying, damnit. It wasn’t long before he was dragging himself everywhere. He didn’t decide to crawl until about 10 months, and that was only because he discovered that dragging his legs over concrete was unpleasant. He’s been working hard on walking by himself for the past two weeks.

I remember in the early days, I couldn’t sleep. Partly from constant nursing, but also because I got incredibly paranoid that he would stop breathing if I didn’t watch him. Much of the early part of my maternity leave was spent inexplicably anxious when the rest of the house slept. He got bigger and I was able to relax.

The twins took to their baby brother immediately. They like to have him walk back and forth to them on the living room floor. They talk about the things they’ll teach him. They love to make him laugh.

Grant has made our family complete (we did get a cat after he was born, but that’s more of a family-adjacent thing), and we can’t wait to see what the next year holds!